


Smitten Miscellanea

by MostlyAnon



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Crack, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Humor, Marriage, Metafiction, Multi, Normandy - Freeform, Other, crew - Freeform, masskink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAnon/pseuds/MostlyAnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small one-shot drabbles written for MassKink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Circean Poison (Kalros/Reaper)

Kalros, mother of all Thresher Maws, wrath of Tuchanka. Kalros, living rage, animal instinct, mother nature’s savage grace. Kalros, alone no longer, for she had found a thing as vicious as she. So long since she had known pain, so long since any had dared challenge her. What a wonderful thing this was, sleek and dark. It was warm to the touch, like the baleful, beloved sun; dark like her den.  
  
She curled tighter as it spasmed and shook, shrieked against her thick hide. Nestled far under the upper world, in the deep dark of Kalros' planet, the destroyer fought a losing battle against the wilderness. It was delicious-- it tasted of _rage_.   
  
As Circe with Odysseus, she wrapped the destroyer in her love and sought to teach it to be obedient to her whim. The Reaper’s song drifted through her mind, as meaningless as the wind and worthy of equal notice.


	2. Alien vs. Predator vs. Normandy vs. Penguins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in a mystery time when the crew from all three games is together.

“Where are they?”  
  
“Antartica. Cold part of Earth. Used to be overrun with penguins and scientists.”  
  
“Sounds like Mordin would have liked it. What’s a penguin?”  
  
“It’s a--”  
  
“Nevermind, I understand.”  
  
“That’s not a penguin. _That’s_ a Predator.”  
  
“Penguins aren’t predators?”  
  
“I... I don’t know, actually. Maybe? But that’s a Predator, the alien species.”  
  
"Are the predators not fighting the aliens? It said they were to do battle in the title.”  
  
“No, no, Aliens and Predators are types of aliens.”  
  
“Battlemaster, even for a human, that sounds stupid.”  
  
“I thought the human woman was the Predator, like asari huntresses. And she’s fighting penguins? Glytch, run an extranet search on predators and penguins, cross reference with instances of female human warriors.”  
  
“Yes, Shadow Broker.”  
  
“I thought you fixed that?”  
  
“Isn’t Blasto 3 showing?”  
  
“Is that the one where he swims through broken glass?”  
  
“Ha, yes! I love that one. Bad assedly: yippee ki yay, ones who enjoy copulating with dams.”  
  
“Shepard, these humans are fools. Why would they forge ahead when clearly they are being hunted by a superior--”  
  
“WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODDESS IS THAT THING?”  
  
“IT HAS A MOUTH HEAD!”  
  
“This explains a lot about your species, Shepard.”  
  
“Extranet search completed. Would you like to view results?”  
  
“Is  _that_  a penguin?”  
  
“Ha ha ha.”  
  
“...Is it too late to trade you all for a new team?”


	3. Meta As All Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shepard plays ME3 Multiplayer.

Before she died, Shepard’s last thoughts were:  _this is such bullshit._  
  
As last thoughts went, these were pretty good, so she shared them aloud.  
  
“Don’t be sore because you suck at this,” Joker said. “And I mean that kindly. That’s really an overstatement of your abilities. I mean, I’ve seen some bad gamers, but you--”  
  
“Are your commanding officer,” Shepard finished.  
  
“Has the Alliance brass seen you play video games?” Liara asked, politely. “I’m not sure they would be entirely comfortable with the results.”  
  
“Hey!” Shepard picked up the controller again. “It’s not my fault. Who fights a banshee on foot with a  _shotgun?_ ”  
  
“You did,” Garrus pointed out. “I seem to remember you telling me I was a cat for using a sniper rifle.”  
  
“I didn’t say cat,” she said.  
  
“You also died six times on a bronze challenge,” he said. “That’s just sad. Your own squad was trying to execute you.”  
  
“Seriously,” Joker broke in. “You might want to have Chakwas check your hand-eye coordination and reflexes. I think Javik is ranked higher than you.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Shepard said, selecting a new class. Soldier. She was a soldier. How different could it be?


	4. Blossoming

She never met her father.  
  
They say daughters by krogan are violent, Ereba’s mother says.  
  
 _But she is not one to lose a fight, not when a moment’s reflection and the masters of old can teach her to win it. There are so many stories of victory, passed down from generation to generation, and it is not her fault she is the only one who knows their value. If that nasty pureblood in her class wanted to be such a bully, perhaps she should have studied salarian history a bit more. Overwhelming force only matters in a fair fight._    
  
She never met her father, but Ereba knows everything beautiful about their daughter comes from him.


	5. No Twilight Mother, Her

She has saved the galaxy three times, defeated the Reapers, wiped out an entire domain of life, and is damn close to restoring it again. She reunited the geth and the quarians, married a turian, and beat EDI at 20 questions  _in the same day._  
  
She is seven months pregnant with a cross-species child that wants to break her ribs and kill her, but hasn’t taken into account that her ribs were reinforced with titanium when Cerberus brought her back from the dead.  
  
And if the Reapers didn’t take her down, there’s no way in Hell she’ll let her child beat her. Let him keep trying. He’ll need to be tough to keep up with the krogan twins Wrex presented them with last year. Her children will be raised as she was, to understand failure as something that happens to other people.  
  
She has stared down Saren, the Illusive Man, Harbinger, the Rachni Queen, krogan Battlemasters, asari Matriarchs, turian Primarchs, quarian Admirals, geth Primes, and death itself. By her count, she has saved the Council  _three_  times, which happens to be the exact number of times you need to save the Council before they put you on it.  
  
So her gaze doesn’t waver when she slowly reaches up to wipe away the blue facepaint smudging her cleavage. She keeps the Dalatrass’ gaze locked with her own and, because Shepard is locked in the staring contest, she sees the disgust that flashes in the Salarian’s eyes.  
  
It is that flash that dooms the Dalatrass.   
  
“Thank you,” she says to Traynor, who interrupted the Dalatrass’ tirade to point out the smudge. “There will be no concessions. The Krogan get a seat on the council or I will call in every war debt the Salarians owe. I will personally cash in all the favors the media owe me in order to expose you. I will make it my mission to end your influence and I. Do. Not. Fail. Consider that offer and get back to me.”  
  
It is very satisfying cut the vid link.   
  
But not nearly as satisfying as the next time Garrus leaves trails of blue against her skin.


	6. Conductimarrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard discovers her superpower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time-setting for this fic is "Cracktastic, deal with it."

“That’s it!”

 

It took a lot to interrupt a Krogan. In Shepard’s experience, bullets sometimes worked, headbutting almost always worked, but words alone rarely did.

 

It was a testament to her frustration that it worked now.

 

She jabbed a finger at Wrex, turning her glare on him. “This isn’t about a _war_ or _justice_. I have run all over this damn galaxy to try and _keep the peace_ because the Reapers are going to kill us all unless we work together and I seem to be the only one who understands that!”

 

There was a smug sound to her right. She spun on Victus. “Don’t. Don’t even start. You’re as bad as he is. None of you have any idea--” her voice faltered, the fear and the frustration and the knowledge that this was going to end in extinction... Everything washed over her at once, shattering the mental dam she used to hold it at bay. She let it run through her, trembling with rage and fear before the other two.

 

Finally, she lifted her head. “You know what? You’re married.”

 

There was a beat of silence, during which both men tried to decide who, exactly, had gone insane. They eventually sorted out that it was her.

 

“Shepard...” Wrex began.

 

She held up a hand, then waved it between them. “Nope. No. You’re married. By the powers vested in me, please, thank you, abracadabra, open sesame and so it shall be, you may kiss the bride. ‘Til death do you part, which will be _pretty damn soon_ if you keep this up. Married. Mazel tov!”

 

Silence followed her out.

 

* *

 

“You- You...Why couldn’t Cerberus have found the last surviving Prothean with a sense of decency?”

 

“You are too soft, asari. There is no--”

 

“Married.”

 

Shepard watched Jarvik and Liara stumble to a stop and look at her. She had discovered her very own superpower. She could make people stare at her like she was a madwoman with just one word.

 

...On second thought, that wasn’t really a _new_ superpower. 

 

The word ‘Reapers’ used to illicit the same stares Liara and Jarvik were giving her now. Did it count if she were using a new word? But...

 

“Shepard, I’m sorry?” Liara said.

 

“No, you’re married,” Shepard said. She stuck her head into the refrigerator, coming up with a bottle of Salarian Whiskey she’d bought with Chakwas’ Ice Brandy. “I can do that, now. It was in a book Kasumi gave me. Captains of ships get to marry people. It’s traditional. And legal.”

 

She toasted them with the bottle and left the two newlyweds to it.

 

* *

 

Eve and Mordin pissed off Wrex some more, but that one just made sense to her. Gabby and Ken were married in an intimate ceremony that she decided to hold in Quarian, just to practice the language. Chakwas and Tali followed shortly after, because they happened to both be in the elevator with her. 

 

Traynor was not particularly upset with the fact that she was now EDI’s blushing bride, but Joker had some very choice words about the whole thing, until Shepard went ahead and added him into the marriage as well.

 

She sent an email to The Illusive Man announcing he was now married to the entire yahg species. She wasn’t sure if her power extended that far, but she felt better afterward. She married the elevator and her mostly empty bottle on the ride down to marry Vega, Cotrez, and the Hammerhead. 

 

***

 

Garrus interrupted the intimate, romantic ceremony she was holding for her hamster and model ships. She was stretched out on the bed, conducting... conducting? She really should know the right term for hosting a wedding. Marrying? Conductimarrying.

 

“Hello, Garrus,” she said, seriously. Upside down was not his best angle. “Have some wine.”

 

He tilted his head to look at her, then at the empty bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. “Shepard. I heard some--”

 

She waved her hand at him. Or the aquarium. His general direction. “People are upset because I’m solving problems by getting drunk and marrying them?”

 

“Marrying your problems or the people causing them?”

 

“Why would I marry the people causing them? I’m bonded to you.” She squinted up at him. 

 

That made Garrus laugh, which made her feel almost as good as marrying the entire council together had felt. ( _“This is an outrage!” “I’ve dismissed that claim, Udina. Shepard out.”_ ) 

 

Garrus sat beside her on the bed. “How much alcohol _does_ it take to get you drunk?” he asked, thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been conscious to find out.”

 

She shifted enough to rest her head on his knee. “One shot less than it takes to get Grunt drunk, but I’m working on that.” 

 

He looked down at her. “You...ah, okay, Shepard? You usually treat instigating diplomatic events more seriously than this.”

 

She shut her eyes and thought about the friends already dead, the people she knew she would lose, the millions dying every day on Earth, and the weight of the future on her shoulders, waiting for her to make one misstep and fall off the tightrope that was her life.

 

“I’m fine,” she said. “Now, kiss me before I decide to marry you to my fish.”


	7. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leftover from a fic that was lost.

Kal’Reegar, marine bred. Born to and bred from a family of marines. Raised to protect the fleet and honor duty. Kal'Reegar, a name that had served proudly, generation after generation. Admirals courted Reegars-- it was a smart leader who sought one under their command. They were loyal, they were clever, they could be trusted to lead, and if they couldn’t win a battle, then you could rest easy with the knowledge no one else could. Best of all, there wasn’t an ounce of political aspiration between them; not a single one had the tolerance for bullshit required for political office. Reegars were soldiers bred, through and through.

Kal’Reegar, considered incorruptible, intelligent, honorable, and mean as a cuss when backed into a corner. One more soldier marching in line and in time with a long, honored squad. He had broken recruit evaluation records set by his father. His father had broken records set by his grandfather and so forth and so on and Kal still wasn’t sure if that spoke more to his family’s abilities or everyone else’s lack. He had been raised to know right from wrong, to give people exactly what they asked for. Reegars stood by their principles, honored their people, and were as true as their aim. 

Kal’Reegar, first of his line to be exiled over a woman who hadn’t been there to welcome him when he came aboard the Normandy.

He sat on an empty bunk, his gun at his side and everything he owned in a duffle by his boots. Around him, the Normandy, (Kal'Reegar vas Normandy? Or was he vas Nedas now?) hummed with life, but the crew's quarters were empty, except for him.

He dropped his helmet to his hands and exhaled.

Bosh’tet.

***


	8. Lay Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A non-start for the Kinkmeme. I think the prompt had something to do with the crew living in a tropical paradise. If I ever get past my block on Gemini, this is next on the list to continue.

It didn’t really hit her until after they hit the planet.

There wasn’t time for hysterics even if Shepard had been a woman easily given to panic. She felt the tightness in her chest and her vision threatened to black out, but the entire ship was in free fall, every system in the galaxy was failing, and securing her people was always priority one. Later, she promised herself. She could fall apart later, she could sleep later, she could turn into a gibbering mess once she’d dealt with whatever fresh Hell this was. It wasn’t an unfamiliar mantra.

Warning sirens screamed as she raced through the corridor, heading for the bridge. (Warning sirens, really? She wondered if the Alliance thought they would somehow fail to notice the ship suddenly falling from the sky, without the alarms.) The blare of emergency lighting as Joker rerouted power to try and get the ship back online, the sickening shudder of metal bending and warping around them, chaos as the crew scrambled to secure the ship-- it was all so, so familiar, but there wasn’t time for hysterics and (fatal) history.

There never was.

Her team shouted confirmations in coms, called back and forth in chaotic chorus. Javik had Liara, Tali, and the engineers, they were secure in the cargo hold, strapped in, safe so long as the engines didn’t vent. Garrus’ voice in her ear-- no time to ask if she was safe; he and Ashley had the crew quarters secure, all personnel accounted for and secure, all personnel cleared from the hangar. Ashley: get the bridge cleared and secure, ma'am, we can't get to you in time. 

Shepard made it back to the bridge seconds before Joker’s sharp warning interrupted EDI’s calm instructions. The Normandy hit the planet slower than the ship originally wanted, under Joker’s firm hand and cool head. He hadn’t flinched when she’d gone into a full system shutdown in the middle of a dirt drop landing and he didn’t when she hit. He kept his hand steady and tried to control the skid, despite a broken arm, a shattered wrist, and what was probably a few broken ribs. 

Shepard threw up a barrier, pouring every ounce of herself into it, ignoring the pop and fizzle as she pushed her amps past breaking point. She wasn’t as good at them as Samara or Jack, but survival was an unforgiving taskmistress. Either she suddenly was good enough, or she, Joker, and EDI were dead. Period.

The ground rushed up at them, Joker shouted “brace!” and Shepard felt blood drip down the back of her neck and from her nose as her amps burnt out. 

It was horribly quiet. Shepard opened her eyes to darkness, pressure, and silence. The darkness and silence were worse than the crash; everything came to a sudden sharp point, a single high note that vibrated through her soul and shattered her like a soprano’s wine glass. She shoved at the weight on her chest-- the pilot’s chair?--pouring her strength into ripping herself free. She crawled toward the blinding light in her peripheral, hobbling on one hand and her knees while she ripped at her helmet, clawing it off.

She fell out of the jagged wound that had been the airlock hatch, landing hard on her shoulder. Frantic now, she ripped herself free of her helmet. She rolled onto her hands and knees and threw up everything in her stomach until she was heaving air. Her armor felt too tight, too constricting. It took her a while to realize she’d dented her chest-plate and it was cutting into her body.

Her hands shook as she undid the clasps, focused on the act like Garrus focused on targets. She exhaled when the armor fell away, barely resisting the urge to gulp down breath after breath. She was alive-- she had survived. Her side ached, her body pushed to its limits before the crash and done no favors by the hard landing. The final assault on Earth had been brutal. Every bit of her was sore; even her teeth ached. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept-- and she wasn’t one to long for rest, not after two years of nothingness. Maybe she could count the period of unconsciousness from after the final battle and the mad dash to reach the Citadel. She had woken up on the Normandy with the rest of the crew, all of them battered and bruised. Every hope was now pinned on Anderson. She had seen him hit the beam before everything went dark.

When she heard footsteps behind her, she shut her eyes in relief. Someone had lived. It wasn’t Akuze all over again. Someone else was alive. She was alive. And if there was any justice in the galaxy, Anderson was alive and the Reapers were dead.

“Damn,” Joker said. “I am _good._ Did you see that?”

“Hard to miss it,” Shepard said. “Are you okay?”

“Few broken ribs, broke my arm, shattered my wrist, so, you know, nothing major, just, damn I did _not_ think we were walking away from that.” He let out a whoop. 

“What happened?” she asked. “I thought you’d gotten us out of the blast zone from the relay.”

“I did. I thought I did. I don’t know. We went into a full system restart in the middle of the planetside landing.” Joker took off his hat and wiped his arm across his brow. He froze when he saw his skin.

“Shepard,” he said. 

She studied his arm and the faint glowing tracery under his skin. “You’re glowing,” she said.

“So are you,” he said.

They stared at each other.


End file.
